The Art of Being Insane

Memoirs of a rainy day…
I once had a woman—standing out on my doorstep, in the pouring rain—ask me, sheepishly, if anyone could become a writer. For a moment, I sat there judging her, not by what she wore, or from a self-imposed God to a lowly being, but rather on a thought of will my next words make her slap me? Then I realized that if they did, who cares? So I let her in, handed her a warm cup of coco, and gave her one of my mom’s nice towels that she doesn’t let anyone else in the house use except for her and my dad.
Once we had been settled—I had turned on the fireplace, and she was warm—I told her that anyone can become a writer, all they had to do was learn how to type. She didn’t slap me (and I was quite surprised by this, I assure you) but instead mumbled that wasn’t what she meant (Which earned another half-assed remark of “I know”). Then the real questions came:
I want to right stories, what are the rules for writing stories?
Now (if this next line didn’t get me slapped I knew she was in for the long run), I have faced this question many times, from classmates to siblings, and even parents. It was time I got enthusiastic. You can find all the rules of writing in a dictionary (use a proper published one; nothing mistaken for Urban Dictionary) and, quite possibly, in a thesaurus. There are very few rules not covered in those two book which are thus; your story may begin in longhand or on the back of a shopping list, but when it goes to an editor it should be typed, double spaced, on one side of the paper only, with generous margins—especially on the left side—and not too many grotty corrections on each page.
Your name and its name and the page number should be at the top of every single page; and when you mail it to an editor it should have an enclosed, self-addressed envelope. And those are the basic rules of writing.
She hadn’t walked out yet puffing and screaming, spilling the hot beverage I had given her over my head. To be honest, I wasn’t trying to be funny either; those are the basic requirements for a readable, therefore publishable, manuscript. And, beyond grammar and spelling, they are the only rules I know.
Staring at me, fighting the anger that was clearly palpable on her face (oh, I knew she was going to despise me on my next answer), she swallowed it all, took a deep swing of her drink and asked me how to become a writer.
Are you all ready for this? Because, I swear upon my words, that this got her storming out of my house (taking the mug with her, by-the-way).
How do you become a writer? Simple; you write.
And you write…and you write… It doesn’t have to be beautiful, in fact, it can stink to high heaven! But one must write, just like an artist draws. Write, write, write, write, write! And if you don’t have time, well, then you aren’t a writer. We don’t do it because we have to. It’s a necessity. Think of a drug addict, only one hundred times worse, metal chains, and no rehab.
That’s a writer’s life and if you aren’t there, well, you best start cranking out the words. A journal, random little shorts here and there, and, if you become infatuated with it, you just might find yourself sitting in class not doodling, but writing. It’s not beautiful; it won’t get you a paycheck on the first try. But giving up is never a way to go.
Just write; love and hate it at the same time, glare at a story—but never rip it to pieces. There’s always good in something. Pack it away and come back later. See something you like, take it out, and make something new.
Now write.

Why do I write?
Purpose? There’s no purpose for writing. My computer is, seriously, over flowing with ideas that fill six pages then are left to collect dust for a few three years before I see them again. I didn’t write them for some editor behind a desk (I always think of a big man with a dark bushy beard, balding, and a cigar sticking out of his mouth…) I wrote them because they popped into my head one day, made a mess, then stepped out as another one came for the ride.
Never, ever write for someone else. You’ll be lying to yourself, to your work, and to your readers. And though I do love all those who have read my stories and grant me with e-mails and hate-mail and whatever you call that facebook messaging system… I will not write a story for you.
A six word poem? Maybe. A full, thirty page short story? In your dreams.
I write because I’m addicted to it. No money will ever make me stop, just like I will not do this for the crisp checks that could or could not arrive in my mail. Write because you like it, because you have to, because at, some time in your life, you might look back and smile, show your kids and say; “see that person right there? Yeah, on the left, standing with the goofy grin. They were part of something spectacular for a short period in their life.”
Write because it’s what you do and let no one tell you otherwise.

All you need is your Imagination
“I’m not as creative as you!” My mother once told me and for a while, I wondered how that was so. See, in Kindergarten we all learn how to paint with our fingers (or flick it in other’s eyes…), you learn writing, reading, basics of math, science… blah, blah, blah. Alright, you learn the basics of everything there is to know that you will need to at least make it to the second grade. But has it ever crossed your mind on how all that came into being?
Really, some magical or extraterrestrial being didn’t say here are the basics, now go find your own way, young grasshopper (be a wicked story if it was though, right? Quick! Someone grab a pencil!) because, in all honesty, everyone is creative. Have you ever seen a mathematician work? Now I hate numbers, but watching them solve a problem with three numbers, six variables, and a less than sign gets them some deep respect, and the fact that they do it again, in a different way, makes me bow down.
Math, science, art, writing… no matter where you look, creativity is there. It’s not different (well, maybe a little bit), but rather a flow that inhabits all beings. The same pencil I use to draw a lion could become another that finds the equation of ... I don't know, something spectacular.
Just like there’s different races in the world, there’s several styles of creativity. Just because they look different, doesn’t mean they’re not the same on the inside.
So, say hello to Creativity, you’ve probably called it something else over the past few years, but you’ve defiantly known each other for a long time.
Hurrah.